Diary of David
by Spirit Bagle of Death
Summary: When Max sends David out to capture the heart of his love interest's son, Michael, he unwittingly sends David out to meet his match in more ways than one. David/Michael slash.
1. Chapter 1

* * *

**The Diary of David**

**So here's to my very first Lost Boys fic; after watching the movie and witnessing Michael and David's undeniable chemistry, I decided that the film was just BEGGING for fanfiction. This is pretty much just going to be some snippets of David's point of view during the movie, as well as his point of view during "deleted" scenes, lol. If I get feedback I'll write a sequel or something, Stephanie Meyer style.**  
**Disclaimer: I don't own it!  
Warnings: Explicit language, mild slash David/Michael **  
**  
*** Chapter 1 Meeting*****

It has been ages since my night has had any purpose other than my own pleasure. Even now, surrounded by gaudy carnival lights, my entourage, and the various veins of human foot traffic, I do not feel like a son on an errand for his father. I feel like I am hunting. This dulls the sting of servitude a bit, but not much, especially when I consider Max's little assignment completely asinine and sentimental…

"_David. There is new blood in town;…I am interested."_

"Oh really? What, are you looking for another pretty boy to decorate the boardwalk? He needs to be able to ride a motorcycle."

" Not this time. No…there is a woman. She's been exploring ineptly for a few days now, and I find her to be absolutely charming. David…I have been a monster for a very long time;…I forgot that when listening to her giggling laugh and simple thoughts. She makes me feel human."

" Christ, who would want that?"

"Give it a few centuries, and ask yourself that question again."

"Heh. Whatever you say. Tell me I don't have to call her mother, because I'll eat her first, I don't care what kind of nostalgia kick she's got you on."

" Haha, no David…however, I want you to make her son a brother. Bring him over, David; it will help convince her, when the time is right, to join with us."

" Tch. I KNEW this had to do with a pretty boy."

"Partially, my son. But this one's not for me…no, not for me at all."  
  
Those last words had held a not-so-subtle implication, one that I scorned as he transferred Mother and Son's image to me with the barest brush of his mind against mine. He thought this vapid Jim Morrison look-alike, this Michael, could be the mate of my immortal life. A true romantic, Max. Made me sick, but hey, he cared about my happiness, however misguided his efforts were. I am not so callous as to undervalue friends or sires.  
Lovers, however, are another story.  
Give me blood.  
Give me heat.  
Let me fuck your brains out and lick away your tears and take in your sighs and feed on your breath, but fuck love. Fuck this holding hands on the boardwalk nonsense. Morose Dwayne, flamboyant Marko, sultry Paul, even my little fallen Star; all tedious beyond belief, unable to see anything but beautiful, glamorous David the Vampire, all more than ready to open their legs and their hearts to me. _  
_ I take a drag off my cigarette and continue following Star's movements in the crowd, confident in her effectiveness as Bait (even if Michael is a faggot he's going to ask her where she bought her skirt.) The gang surrounds me, talking and laughing, but alert and prone to any eventual order I should give; tedious, yes, but loyal, useful, and utterly enamored. I like it this way.

Finally Star parts the crowd, Michael following eagerly behind. I have to admit, Max's memory did not do him justice. His jeans hug every possible muscular curve, and he walks with a confident, determined stride. Lustrous, thick brown hair comes down in rough waves to his shoulders, partially shading chocolate brown eyes that gleam with intelligence and single-minded concentration. My heightened sense of smell picks up the scent of musk, ashes, and aftershave…an honest to God, formidable, (if merely human) _man._  
This first impression is reinforced when he gives me and the coven a quick but appraising look, straddles his motorcycle, and then smirks flirtatiously at Star…_who walks towards his bike._

"Where are you going, Star?"

She meets my leery expression with one of defiance, a _first _for my little half demon. Her voice, when it answers, falters only a little.

"For a ride."

When she begins to straddle his bike, I make my tone warning; she may only be a silly girl, but she is in my entourage, and I will not be embarrassed in front of my prey.

"Star."

That does it. As she walks back over, I smirk, but my amusement is halted momentarily by Michael's unapologetic challenging stare. No fear, no admiration, just…annoyance, and a more than idle curiosity (desire?).  
Perfect. More than perfect. Not what I was expecting, but I can definitely work with it, and, as the biking challenge leaves my lips, I realize I _want _to work with it. I want to show off, draw him in, make him forget about Star…  
As we ride I fly on his emotions and thoughts like a high. First that intoxicating machismo as he accepts…his fear when he encounters the steps, his frustration, exhilaration, and competitive spirit…the night carries all of these things of his to me as if they were meant to be mine. Eventually he gains on me so that we are neck and neck, he keeps staring, provoking, challenging back. Alright, Michael, you want to play like that? Our bikes careen closer and closer to the cliff; his fear is on the back of my tongue, hell, _my _fear is on the back of my tongue, a leftover instinct, a burst of dead adrenaline,… but I like how fear tastes. Finally, the saner of us, meaning he, skids to a stop, and forfeits this particular victory. I halt soon after with ease, and feel his terror ignite instantly into rage, pride, strength, and that same rash determination he exuded while pursuing Star.

"WHAT THE ARE HELL YOU DOING, HUH?!"

I smirk and prepare to make some snide comment…but then his fist makes contact with my face, throwing me off balance. "JUST YOU. COME ON; JUST YOU." He yells, repeats those words again and again like a mantra, and stares at me, "just" me. All barbs, all man, all _power._ I take an unprecedented moment to collect myself, then meet his gaze flirtatiously, tasting the blood he drew in my mouth.

"How far are you willing to go Michael?"

It does not matter _how _he answers, because I know how far I am going to take him. Michael will be _mine._


	2. Chapter 2

*****Chapter 2, Initiation *****  
**  
Author's Note: Hey everyone! Here is the second chapter. Hope you all enjoy. Please review I enjoy them way too much. ^^  
Warnings: Vulgar language, some sexuality, slash.  
**_**/Words/ = **_**Michael or David's thoughts depending on the context. **

"Michael, Michael, Michael, Michael!"

My boys chant in hushed tones, tense with excitement. The elixir is still making its way through my body, warming me, eating at my customary detachedness and replacing it with a delicious, passionate vitality. I am suddenly _twice _as horny, and three times more interested in what Michael plans to do with the jeweled bottle I have passed his way.  
He didn't scream at my mind tricks with the food; that's a first. Even his thoughts were stable under the circumstances; more interest and that "don't fuck with me" mantra, less fear. If he drinks what's in that bottle,…well, there will be no more tests, no more need for trickery. He'll be one of the pretty boys…a very, very pretty, formidable "boy."

"Don't...you don't have to, Michael."

Star's simpering voice sounds out from the corner; I could tear her hair out and choke her with it, if not just for being so hypocritical; that's Star's thing; the little wolf in sheep's clothing. She thinks she's fooling more than her prey, but I know; my Star is a Star alright, with all the acrid gases and unpredictable flares that come with the territory. Jealous, vindictive, moody, beautiful Star, who drank my elixir thirstily and begged for more; shut the _fuck _up. That Michael completely ignores her is gratifying, but then…

"It's blood."

My hands actually twitch in an effort not to rip her head off. The only thing that stops me is Michael's look of disgusted disbelief in response, and the fleeting thought that escapes him as he raises the bottle to his lips. _/Damn, this girl's sort of lame./ _

Yes, that thought saves the malcontented little princess. I am breathless, wordless, as he drinks…then heat engulfs me. Our minds connect instantly with the clarity and dynamics of brotherhood, and yes…of blood. Michael…my blood is in your veins. On some other plain the boys and I are cheering and clapping; but _inside, _within the beautiful burning darkness of the ineffable….something-else, that is being a vampire and becoming one, I am more alive than I have ever felt, trying not to choke on the irony.

For sure, it's the best high there is. Most, even vampires, can only handle a little their first time around, but Michael dives into the sensation with confidence and hedonistic enthusiasm…he _keeps drinking…_fucking Christ he just keeps going and going until I am laughing, out loud or in his mind I am not sure…oh Michael, Michael…this is going to be fun.

******

A little later, I am looking up into those incredulous eyes from the railroad tracks. Star has blessedly made herself scarce, and the rest of us seasoned dead feel like showing off to the new initiate. Customarily, despite the rebellion of every cell in his still human-trained mind, Michael will not be out-done, and in seconds his feet are dangling precariously next to mine in the fog.  
The inevitable train comes…  
The world shakes…  
He's really scared now… hahaha weren't we all… the noise rips through us and one by one they drop like lemmings but he holds on for dear life, unable to process the seeming contradiction of their impending doom and the continued shouts of encouragement from the misty below.

"You are one of us Michael. Now let _go." _

And then I am Haze, falling languidly to the sound of his rewardingly alarmed call to me.  
A few heartbeats pass (his, not mine), and then I feel his body plummet towards me. His yell echoes in the fog, but barely drowns out my laughter. For you see, plummet is a strong word; Michael, you are flying, and you don't even know it. Soon he is level with me, an enticing, flailing shape gliding (yes, gliding) towards the ground. He turns those gorgeous eyes on me, and on impulse my arms reach out. I grab him from the air and crush his body to mine, laughing at the eagerness his terror and…something else, creates in this magnificent fledgling.  
It takes him a second to realize he's stopped "falling." When he does, he does not pull away from me. He merely looks at me for a long moment, breathing hard. Then, just as I am about to put the poor creature out of his misery, (misery that is all too apparent in his mind and in his blue jeans,) he shoves me at arms length (not letting go though; Michael is a survivor) and snarls "What's going on?"  
This is the third time in as many hours that Michael has surprised me into momentary speechlessness; they _all _beg for it; they are mine then, and then they are my disciples, my groupies, my gang. And here he is, still drunk on my blood, attempting to resist. True…instant submission is boring, but active _resistance _is futile…and…grating! Heh. Max is always telling me I don't really know what I want. Maybe he's right.  
I recover myself, and laugh softly.

"Michael, Michael," it comes out a husky whisper, "You should really learn to just go with things."

I had planned to bring him on a hunt with the boys. The first kill is best if relished soon, otherwise one's conscience has a tendency to nag. God just look at Star! What a waste of blood she was. Yes…hunting is the best thing to do right now…but I am not in the mood for that kind of conquest, and after such an impressive show of impulse repression in my new Sire, I can't bear to share him. No…he must be mine, all mine, and he must submit. I _will _have him; I will have him tonight.

With an extremely flirtatious smile that secretly strokes the faint but constant hum of Michael's just-below-the-surface thoughts, thoughts like "looks right at me-so blonde-big-dangerous-wonder what his cock looks like-oh god nonono Jesus that's disgusting-but it's not-his coat is awesome-what's under it is awesome-aahhh shut the fuck up!," I grab his arm and propel us both further into the mist, separating from my gang. In a few minutes they are far enough away that I can't hear their mocking speculations as to where we've gone. (Marko in particular makes it a point to loudly remark that "Yup! Same customary initiation! I just hope David goes easy on this one; we want him to be able to _sit _his motorcycle!") I don't even know where I am headed…somewhere away, above the noise, closer to the night and those thoughts he keeps thinking…somewhere with walls I can push him against, and where no one will pay any mind to his groans.

"Hey, David, is that the scrap yard? Should we be getting so close to the incinerator?"

…Heh. Perrrrfect.  
Santa Clara's Waste Allocation Depot is a dismal little complex on the very edge of the city, known for its large dogs, giant smog-spouting chimneys, and less-than-savory loiterers. Anyone sane keeps away unless they're on some sort of business, and no legitimate business is ever done past six pm. Yeah…no one sane around, no one human. Just drug dealers, gangs, and vampires…or vampire gangs. Hah. Eventually, our feet touch solid ground. We are standing on top of the main factory building. It's a lurid structure, very uneven, totally concrete, thrown together, and pock-marked with ducts and pipes, all shooting smoke or flame into the otherwise clear darkness. Michael's breathing has become audible, but he sounds exhilarated…thrilled.

With a satisfied smirk I lean against one of the pyres and light a cigarette. My eyes drink him in unblinking; Michael, wreathed in power, ash, and fire. He returns my stare with one of his own, and I have no problem attributing it to a similar motivation. You can't keep secrets from your sire, so Max reminds me constantly. Michael's just happen to be the first ones I feel like tuning into. For a few sublime seconds I trap him in my gaze, and as his expression turns from unsure to defensive, I penetrate his mind.

"What's your deal, man?! How…how did that just…I don't really…that was SOME wine."  
_/We were flying, so fucking cool, why am I harddd, wonder what Sam ate for dinner, he just took the longest drag on that cig I have ever seen… want to suck the smoke out of him; gotta get home!!! gotta get away gotta walk closer, still sort of want to fight him but then we'll touch shit, nonono no touching…SHIT!/_

It all plays on top of itself; so many conflicting and random strains that I wince at the racket in my head; only one way to deal with this.  
I have to burn away the nonsense, and stoke his need.  
Slowly I take one, two, three steps closer. Three steps are all before our noses are once again inches apart and he seems incapable of movement. Somewhere down below the dogs are barking; howling at my "infamous audacity" as Max calls it, I suppose.

"Michael."

"WHAT?!"  
_/Uhnn…/  
_I grab his chin with one hand, and his crotch with the other, though I do not close the distance; this is a challenge, not a rape. Instantly, he reels back, but we both know what I felt, and what I hear. He deals with this embarrassing dichotomy by lunging forward like a bull, an inhuman roar escaping from his throat.

I jump, turn in the air, and land just in time to see him collide with the chimney wall. He needs only a second of recovery, (a second or two less than I would have liked,) and then he's around again and attacking again, pure rage. This time I have to duck, but he is _fast. _His fist misses my cheek, but his knee caches me in the stomach so that I grunt even as I use the buckling reflex to barrel roll and lock my hands on his thigh, dragging him to the ground. There is an instant where he is on his back, but his whole spine arches in rebellion. He scrambles away and manages to rise to his hands and knees, matching my position. My arm darts out, and I return the punch to the face he dealt me only hours before. It dazes him for a second, but the blow throws me off balance, and I can't dodge his fingers as they grip the end of my hair tightly and tug. The unexpected and decidedly _dirty _move sends my face closer to the concrete ground,…there are three full seconds of him on his feet, kicking my stomach, chest, and head. The pain is a faint echo of what a human might experience, but it is enough to make enough enough.

My fingers dig into his leg, drawing hot, sleek blood. He yells, falls, and can't get back up as quickly; Michael is strong, but not a full vampire yet…he is tired. With a brutal grunt I yank him further towards me, and straddle his thighs securely. In order to resist my compulsive desire to tear the leg of his jeans off and drain the wound I made of all life, I deal him one, two, three hard body shots until his groan registers. I then take his wrists, and pry his hands from my throat (they've been squeezing; apparently Michael hasn't realized yet that breathing is optional). He puts all the fight he has left in keeping them around my neck, but inch by inch they give, and my iron grip forces his arms above his head.

He is sweating, panting, glaring, raging…and writhing. For ever since I've won my position, I have been grinding my hips against his in a steady rhythm, coaxing his latent arousal into a desperate reciprocation of my lust. There is blood on his lips and neck; probably from when I punched him. Slowly, summoning every ounce of discipline within me, I lean forward and press my mouth to his, tasting his blood and his need. The kiss is a surface one at first, my tongue unable to penetrate his tightly locked jaw, but for now I am more interested in exploring the rivulet of red that has made its way down to his collar bone.

I lick every last trace of it away, savoring his taste and testing his flesh with my teeth. His heart pumps against my chest, and if our bodies were any closer together I would be inside more than his mind. He is groaning again, though this time the pain of his wounds is mixed with the pleasure I am forcing him to face; dimly I'm aware that I have released his wrists…and he is no longer fighting me. My hands roam freely under his shirt, and his cleave to my back and make their way violently through my hair. When next I reach his lips, I find them hungry, _greedy_; they suck on mine as if he were trying to consume me and destroy the evidence of his shamefully debilitating desire.

I smile against him then, and open my eyes; neither of us is able to speak, but my thoughts and gaze says it all as I teasingly play with the button on his stonewashed jeans.

_/I win, Michael./_

And I am so sure that I have…but then;  
A tear escapes the corner of his eye.  
His body rumbles with a growl of anger and a deep, bitter sadness.  
He pushes me away, stands up, backs up, and then…  
He jumps. For a moment, my stomach clenches in a surprisingly intense spasm of apprehension; yes its possible even for me to confuse the humans with the monsters sometimes…but then I see the dim reflection of the moon on his white shirt as his new vampiric instincts carry him through the darkness and towards his home.

Slowly I stand, his blood and our mingled desire still teaming in my system; his thoughts are growing fainter; they are more like an aftertaste coherent words… so much anger. So much doubt and anguish and ambivalence and need; so much guilt at so much freedom; and yet, he understands.  
It would not be freedom at all to be a prisoner to his desire for me. Michael is not a piner or a yearner; he is a doer… a leader.  
Suddenly Max's words echo in my head with a harsh clarity:

"_This one's not for me; no, not for me at all."_

Christ. A match indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

******Chapter 3, Nerves ******

I can hear them fucking in my head. It sounds desperate, clumsy, forced…they're having freak-out sex.  
This is my second night apart from the gang. I couldn't bear to go back "empty-handed," not this soon…and there is something strange building in my chest. Something hard and heavy that drags on me and makes me wish for solitude…or Michael.  
This same something is what drives me to the sunken hotel, even though I know what I will find there. I am hoping actually _seeing _it will give me the spark of rage I need to just kill her. (Call me a pussy, but I have never been much for killing my own kind, even simpering little half-monsters like Star; it feels like I don't know, cannibalism.)

By the time I pad silently down the steps, they are finished, and asleep. It is dark save for the moon and some overly-sentimental candlelight; like something out of a bad music video. He is on the very edge of the bed, curled away from her. I take a moment to admire his naked chest and the unabashed brown curls that have fallen haphazardly across his forehead…such a feral creature, Michael. She is leaning into him. Her arm grasps his waist possessively even in sleep, and her breathing is even with his. Enjoy it while you can, Star. It would be a lie even if I didn't rip out your heart.

I reach out to do it…to take out all my frustration and anger on something useful. I want to pound his rejection into her flesh. I want to drink every last drop of his horror at my illusions, meant to impress and entice, out of her skinny little body. I want to tear away his stubbornness along with her face, and glare at the naked nerves, muscle, and bone beneath.  
There's nothing more honest than blood vessels.  
I don't know how long I stand here…probably almost half an hour, until finally my hand moves…and brushes away his hair.  
What. The. Fuck. Is. Wrong. With. Me.  
Disgusted at my weakness, I turn quickly and all but run from the godforsaken hovel. I run until my feet just aren't touching the ground anymore…yeah, flying loses its luster after a while. Sort of becomes habit.  
Where am I going? No, not the caves…they'll be back there soon. The other Lost Boys hanging on my every word, waiting for a report of my exploits and whereabouts. Eugh. Obviously can't go back to the hotel…I think I'd burn it to the ground if I did…I don't have a coffin stored away anywhere, though admittedly that would be a useful feature of the folklore right about now.

Suddenly, He is in my head, clear as if he were at my ear. His tone is gentle and paternal, something that instinctively I find grating, but ultimately it slows me down. There's no use fighting the invasion…he dug the hole in my soul, and can visit any time he wants.

"Come home, David."

I hover still for a moment…then with a growl I turn and race towards one of the more tasteful suburbs of Santa Clara, towards Max and his inevitable probing.

The house is completely black on the outside, and the dogs sleep fitfully just inside the gates. Not exactly the most inviting dwelling, but he likes it that way. Anyway who am I to talk; I live underground. With nearly subconscious ease I locate the side entrance and enter noiselessly. The never-before-used kitchen is eerily quiet, leaving me completely undistracted from my thoughts. Fuck. This is what they invented rock music and stereos for Max, you ancient fucking bore.  
As if on cue, (okay TOTALLY on cue,) Mozart's Moonlight Sonata starts playing faintly from another room, accompanied by a soft, familiar laughter.

"Tsk, David. _Every_ era has its distracting revolutionaries."

He is lounging against the opposite entryway as if he's always been there. I grunt in response and open the fridge, taking refuge from his knowing eyes in the quest for blood.

"Only this is not your customary method, my son. Nor do you usually go so long without feeding; something is _wrong _with the Beaver."

Ugh _God _really? In a decidedly intense gesture I grab the nearest bottle to me and rip the cork off. After a long, thirsty draught of what tastes like the last gasps of some banal uptown shop girl, (Max and his middle aged lambs…ew.) I deal him a scornful grin.

"You really crack yourself up, don't you?"

"Usually. But it's much more fun when I've got an audience."

I open my mouth to retort with something cruel or full of attitude…but all that comes out is a giant sigh. Horrified, I clamp my mouth shut so that it can't betray me with anymore incongruous sounds, but as I do every muscle in me sags with the weight of the dead.

"Oh, David…"

"WHAT. WHAT DO YOU WANT??!!"

He does not immediately respond, but otherwise, he gives no reaction to my loudest outburst in…I don't know how long. I prefer sarcasm to yelling…velvet to nails. Lionel Luther had it right when he said that-

"We are at our weakest when we are angry, David."

Shit.  
I finish off Susie Cashier and collapse in one of his ornate wooden chairs. My answering smile is bitter. "Funny then that you always see fit to use me like one of your attack dogs."  
He doesn't take the bait; I don't think I have _ever _scratched the surface of one of Max's nerves. It's the power of the very old, to be stone. He merely takes the seat across from me and rests his head on one of his hands, all at once resembling an oversized, bespectacled owl.

"Are you unhappy with the life we have here?"

"…No."

"Because if you were, we could leave. Or you could leave. You know enough now to make it on your own, I have no reason to stop you. I don't think I could even if I tried. True I've grown used to being Master of this city, but, when we get down to the math of things, there are more boys I could bring over. New gangs for new boardwalks…new and replaceable power."  
Something in my chest clenches tightly. I fall to studying my reflection in the bottle.

"Stop being stupid."

His smile is a triumphant one. "Does it placate your pride, then, to think of your service to me as an obligation? I am sorry; I will not tread over it so carelessly again."

I have nothing to say to that. I want to leave. It was stupid coming here…I don't even know why I-

"Because it's where you belong."

There is a long silence. My knuckles are white with the effort I am putting into clenching the empty bottle's neck. My reflection grows blurrier and blurrier by the second. Finally, when I think I will go crazy focusing on the trills of the background piano…

"This job…its harder than I thought it would be."

He reaches across the table and puts a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"But you're doing fine; he's halfway there, David. It's difficult for everyone the first few days but he'll come around. And as far as that pesky little brother of his, I deflected all suspicion safely off myself tonight at dinner; these slayers he's working with are real amateurs."

"Star's got him." It's about the only way I can verbalize the current situation. Which is fine; speech is a polite formality.

"Star. Well, she was _your _idea." He chuckles. "I hope she taught you that the conquest of a woman is no more thrilling to you as a vampire than it was when you were human. You are what you are, my son."

"And what am I, Max? Why don't you just keep right on talking."

That infernal hand moves away from my shoulder to cup my left cheek; anyone else on earth right now would be dead; okay well we're both dead, but you know what I mean; really really dead.

"You are a God, David. When I found you on that grubby street corner forty years ago, making vivid death threats against your attackers even as you gasped your life force out of a punctured lung, you already had the potential, the beauty, and the ego of a God…I just gave you the power. Unfortunately…the only power that transcends the boundaries of humanity on this earth…is monstrous. Over time, we learn to embrace the beast within us, but it takes_ time."_

I just look at him. He knows what I want to say.

"And I know that you took to it immediately, my beautiful, adaptable son. But…you were born into a mortal family who was no family at all, and you faced a mortal world that was unkind and unsuited to your temperament. You had nothing, David. Nothing but the next crime, the next score; the acquisition of materials and prowess simply for the sake of it, because what else was there but death and despair…"

"Ugh you are such a_ sentimental _old FOOL-"

"But I am right, David. Its mortal lives like yours that make me remorseless about the killing we do…because in every human, there is the degenerate potential that claimed your absent alcoholic father, and the cruelty that consumed your vindictive mother. There is the brutishness of the schoolboys who systematically beat my little God when they realized he was different, and the intolerant derision of the teachers who turned a blind eye. There is the betrayal of all those friends, the cold unwinnable games of all those lovers, the wolfish grins of the drug dealers…David, if you think for a second that you are not what they made you,…well, that just compounds the heinousness of their crimes."

He pauses for a minute, apparently trying to refocus on the point he may or may not have actually been making before he went off on a sappy tangent about my years in Levittown, then…

"Now, Michael…Michael is lucky. He has a brother he feels responsible for, and a mother that…well she makes me forget about all the evil in the world. She is one of the kindest, gentlest women I have ever-"

"Kill me now."

"Point is…Michael has something to lose in all this, even if, in you and what you offer, he has a whole new world to gain."

I shrug and deal him a characteristic smirk. "Well this was fun, truly. But traditional sex is more my style; I'm not into mind-fucking."

"Of all your lies-"

"I'll see you. "

"David."

"What."

I am halfway out the door, but he follows me and wills me to stop. All I want to do is sleep now…forget about all this. Maybe when I will wake up I'll be me again.

"I am sorry this is causing you such pain. The things that are worth it always do. But we will have our happy ending, David; the plan is progressing perfectly…and he will come around."

A growl of frustration escapes my throat. When only a second before I felt weary, now I am irate and agitated. Star must be rubbing off on me.

"This isn't a fucking fairy tale. Or if it is, I'm the dragon. I will burn him, and then I will consume him, and he will love me for it. _Don't _confuse us, Max. For that matter, don't confuse yourself; you're a little long in the tooth to be playing Prince Charming."

His sigh is full of a pity that is _maddening._ It follows me out the door and into the sky.


End file.
